


The Inbetween

by misch3fbunni3



Series: Pre-Icarus Rebirth: Seductions, Temptations, Encounters, and Betrayals [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Complicated Emotions, Denial of Feelings, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Rebirth, S.T.A.R.S. (Resident Evil), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Tears, breaking point, conflicting emotions, revival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/pseuds/misch3fbunni3
Summary: Follows Wesker's death and how Chris handles the loss and betrayal.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Series: Pre-Icarus Rebirth: Seductions, Temptations, Encounters, and Betrayals [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868527
Kudos: 27





	1. Bereavement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows the aftermath of Wesker’s death from Chris’s POV.

Chris couldn’t keep his eyes off Wesker’s body where the tyrant had tossed the blonde across the room after being violently impaled on the monster’s claws.

Rebecca had taken off already. She had patted Chris’s arm in reassurance that everything was going to be ok. But everything was not ok. Nothing would ever be ok. Everything had been a lie—all of it.

Everything Albert had stood for was a lie. Except what he could see in those sad, pale eyes that almost seemed to swirl when the morning light would hit them. That at least he knew had been real. It was the one thing Wesker couldn’t hide.

Chris kneeled next to Wesker's sprawled body, avoiding the large pool of blood surrounding the blonde like a liquid cape and trying not to stare at the partial disembowelment.

Chris leaned over the blonde, a shaking hand tilted the blood-smeared face towards him that was set in a slightly surprised expression.

Unable to stop the tears, Chris gently removed the shades that still covered his lover’s eyes. The pale blue-gray were frozen wide, staring up at the ceiling, void of any life.

Chris ran his fingers over one cheek and then the other. Then he was pawing at Wesker’s face, running his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones, until finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and leaned over the prone form, sobbing into the already cooling skin of the other’s cheek.

Chris’s voice was tight, and in an anguished tone, screamed at the empty room, “You fucking bastard! How could you?! How could you do this to us?! How could you do this to **ME**!!”

Chris was still in disbelief, eyes clenched shut, but tears slipped down his cheeks anyway. Was everything a lie? Wesker had been vicious, cold, and unfeeling in their last interaction only minutes prior.

“Fuck you.. you fucking lying piece of shit, son of a fucking bitch whore!”

A choked sob echoed through the silence as Chris sucked in a deep breath, his body shuddered from the uncontrollable torrent of emotions, “I fucking hate you so much!”

Gripping onto the blonde’s vest, shaking the body slightly, Chris sobbed harder, pressing his face into the unmoving chest. Whispering brokenly, trying to convince himself of his own conviction, his angry shouting dying down to a quiet whisper, “I hate you, Albert!" But deep down, Chris knew that this too was a lie, and the accusation died on his trembling lips.

Confusion and pain laced into the brunette's lament, "I… I… can’t… Why?! Why Albert?! **FUCKING WHY**!!” Chris knew that Wesker had felt something for him. Wesker couldn’t hide what Chris saw in those pale eyes when the older man looked at him but had never let any of what he was thinking creep into their conversations. There was only that one acknowledgment of allowing Chris to use his first name when they were alone.

Wesker’s words during their confrontation had sounded slightly rehearsed, voice clipped, his actions stiff. Like Wesker knew this would happen, had expected it.

Chris jerked up, staring down in anguish at the unseeing blank stare. Not able to stand seeing them any longer, Chris gently closed the blonde’s eyelids and replaced the black shades, caressing the still cheek. It was the least he could do.

Leaning forward, despite his shouts of hatred falling on the deaf ears, Chris pressed his lips to the cooling forehead one last time, inhaling Wesker’s scent to be compartmented and locked away tightly forever. Chris had gotten attached, and now he chastised himself for it.

Chris knew how bad things could turn on a dime with office romances, but this, this took the cake. Never in a million years would Chris have dreamt something like this would happen. This was the ultimate betrayal. Chris's heart broke and shattered into a thousand pieces that settled to the bottom of his aching chest. As Chris leaned back, his bitter tears splattered against Wesker’s cheeks, sliding down the pale flesh.

Unbeknownst to the now retreating brunette, behind the shades, liquid welled up at the corners of the closed eyes to slide down to mingle with Chris’s tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read in conjunction to Encounters chapter 7 Albert. There will eventually be a companion piece for this.


	2. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker can see and hear Chris’s lament. Companion piece to Bereavement from Wesker’s POV.

Wesker could hear the battle between Chris and the Tyrant, but he was completely paralyzed and unable to move anything. ‘Is this death?’

Wesker was not able to see anything except the console towers across from where he lay, his vision locked into a single point as the battle raged around him. Wesker had done his best to make certain the STARS teams were effective combatants. He had spent grueling hours training them and even more so with Chris. ‘Please, Chris, I know you can survive this. This is why I’ve pushed you so hard. I **need** you to survive. I can’t let Umbrella destroy everything that is mine.’

Wesker had been nervous during their confrontation but was proud that he could keep the sentiment out of his voice as he told Chris the cold, harsh truth, pushing the young man away with his betrayal.

What was left of Wesker’s vision became fuzzy and sounds muffled, like he was underwater. His head was pounding, unimaginable pain throbbed through his entire body, but he could do nothing to alleviate the awkward position his body lay in, completely and utterly paralyzed.

It wasn’t until he distantly felt something touch his face that his line of vision tilted until Chris was the only thing he could see. Chris was yelling, his expression distraught, anger, and disbelief in the youthful face, tears slipping down his cheeks. The words jumbled as Wesker was unable to process what the brunette was saying.

Wesker felt grief that he could not soothe the younger man. This was why he didn’t want Chris getting too close in the first place, but the brunette had been incredibly persistent. In his own selfishness, Wesker had allowed for something more than the physical connection between them to creep through the cracks of his broken soul to settle.

Suddenly his hearing returned to normal, and the broken sobs were loud in his ears as the brunette screamed at him, “I fucking hate you so much!” His body jerked as Chris shook him fiercely and then there was the pressure of the younger man against his chest.

“I hate you, Albert!" Another declaration of hatred, except this time, it was so much more agonizing for Wesker to hear than the screaming anger because it was a whisper, and Chris had used his name.

How those words were spoken caused Wesker’s chest to ache even more so if that was even possible in his paralyzed death state. It hurt because Wesker knew those words were not true by the way Chris had said his name. A tone that the brunette used only when they were alone.

Wesker knew that Chris had felt something deeper. And maybe, just maybe, he had begun to reciprocate, despite knowing he shouldn’t have. However, the connection with the younger man was too tempting. Chris had been a light to wash away the darkness of years of loneliness that had enshrouded his entire being. Certainly, he had relations with others in the past but never did he have such a connection with another person as he had with Chris.

Chris’s tear-stained face hovered in his blurry vision, and Wesker knew how deeply he had hurt this man, and yet Wesker could not bring himself to entirely regret his actions. Wesker would do it all again if given the chance, even only to spend the few weeks they had together.

But none of that mattered anymore. From his death would blossom new life. A new purpose. To become a higher form. Superior. Wesker had to take this leap of faith for his own evolution. To fulfill the path of greatness set out for him and use it to his own advantage and gain the power that was so rightfully his.

Wesker watched as Chris’s hands blocked his vision to lower his eyelids. There was only static now. Wesker could distantly feel the press of the younger man’s lips against his skin and the tingle of droplets hitting his face and immediately knew these were Chris’s tears. Agonizing pain deepened in his unmoving chest as an invisible heavy weight crushed what was left of his heart, ‘I’m so sorry, Christopher. It has to be this way.’

Despite the numbing paralysis, Wesker felt his eyes prickle with tears and build until they too trickled down his temples. ‘Can the dead cry? Am I truly dead, or is this a stasis of the virus? Will I be stuck like this forever? Did William trick me?!’

The static that was Wesker’s vision suddenly brightened into a memory of Chris smiling brightly, joyous, carefree, talking to him about nonsense as the budding of affection shined in the hazel eyes. A shine that had deepened over the course of their short time together.

Then the image shrank as the memory slowly played out until there was a single pinprick of light, and like an old tv being shut off, that too was gone, and then there was nothing.

.....

Wesker felt like he had spent an eternity in the nothing when suddenly, everything was too bright, too loud like he was standing in front of a jet engine staring directly at the sun. A small noise tore from his throat from the crashing momentum of existing.

It took Wesker a moment for his brain to reboot, kick-starting his autonomic nervous system. The serenity of the nothing left Wesker feeling shattered, leaving him in a disassociated haze, which gradually blossomed into rage and pure, unrestrained hatred. Of what, Wesker was unsure.

Wesker felt his body come back online, lungs expanding, oxygen reviving the stiff limbs. Wesker could not control the involuntary spasm that jolted his muscles as he tried to sit up. Every nerve singing in agony, but then that too faded. Looking down, he realized he was covered in his own blood, but what should have been his disemboweled abdomen, only smooth flesh glistened through the large tears in his shirt and flack vest.

Wesker’s muscles were uncoordinated as he leaned back against the console. Bringing a hand up for leverage, Wesker made his way to his feet. The fleeting emotions from his final moments dissipating only leaving a cold, calculating monstrosity. There was no more time for sentiments. He had work to do and power to usurp.


	3. You Were Everything, And Then You Were Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris’s abrupt departure from Raccoon City was… complicated. Leaving Jill behind. Leaving Claire. Just ups and bolts because everything reminded him of Albert. Everything. Yet, there was nothing left of the man for Chris to curse his traitorous heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really happy how this turned out.
> 
> This fits much better here - Ludovico Einaudi – Experience https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VONMkKkdf4

Chris was jerked awake from a hazy stupor as the helicopter landed, jerking the occupants from their respective thoughts. There were a million voices seemingly all at once as he, Jill, Rebecca, Barry, and Brad made their way out of the bird and into a swarm of police officers and medics. Everything was an absolute blur, and by the time he realized it, they were all in processing at Raccoon General Hospital for observation, having been confronted swiftly by Chief Irons in front of a mob of people and ordered them to stand down.

They had all been put on administrative leave for two weeks due to the trauma of losing so many team members, including their captain. They were all required to report to the precinct psychologist for review in three days, and if they had any concerns before then to call the shrink for assistance.

Before leaving for their hospital visit, they had a closed-door meeting with Chief Irons, which had gone absolutely nowhere. Irons denied any and all of what the five survivors knew of Umbrella’s deep pockets. Finally, tired of keeping up his charade against the angry rising voices and pointing fingers, Irons ordered them all to report to the med team, cutting off any further protests and threatening them with harsher punitive actions.

.....

Chris seethed under his breath at his closest compatriot, which happened to be Jill, “How long do we have to be here!” Eyeing the staff wearily who seemed to be running back and forth around them prepping rooms and running tests. Chris wondered if they were Umbrella’s people too. Watching the nurses and doctors tiptoe around them, Jill murmured as she eyed Chris with concern, “I think only 24 hours for observation. Why?”

Chris didn’t reply. He couldn’t wait that long. He had to get to Wesker’s apartment to look for something. Anything. Anything that would give away what the older man had been hiding all along. Finally, alone in a solitary room, Chris sat at the edge of his bed, head between his hands as he rocked against the onslaught of emotions, “You fucking bastard.”

Knowing that he was alone, he allowed the ache in his chest to finally consume him as he sobbed, his face crumbling under the onslaught of silent tears. Chris leaned forward until he slipped off the crisp hospital sheets to fall to his knees with a heavy thud against the linoleum. Not even caring at the sting in his kneecaps.

Trying to keep his emotional outburst as quiet as he could, he covered his face in his hands, bowing over, trying to stifle the sounds of mourning. Never had he felt such physical pain from an emotion before. He had his fair share of wounds between the Air Force and STARS, but nothing physical could ever even come close to the mental onslaught from the betrayal and loss of Wesker.

Yes, he had felt pain when his parents died but not like this. This loss was gut-wrenching, consuming every part of his being.

Chris couldn’t stay here. He was wasting time. He needed to get to Wesker’s apartment before someone else did. Cutting off his torrent of emotions as best he could, he rose from the crumpled ball he had molded himself into on the floor.

Chris needed to get out of there before the real dam burst, and he would become inconsolable, which he would prefer to do in the privacy of his own home. Chris did not want anyone seeing him like that, but he knew it was coming. Wiping tears from his cheeks and snot from his nose, he untied the strings at the back of the hospital gown and pulled the garment off, which he rolled into a ball and threw on the ruffled bed.

Chris quickly dressed in his sodden clothes, trying not to think about all the dark bloodstains and avoiding the mirrors, or he would never be able to walk away. Chris grabbed what was left of his belongings and peaked out his door to check how busy the hallway was, which was surprisingly empty. Thankful of the early morning hour, Chris slipped out of the hospital as hastily as he could. He could never stand being in hospitals anyway.

.....

A half-hour later, he was standing in Wesker’s apartment doorway. The door had been forced open, and it had already been ransacked. A small amount of papers strewn over the floor, furniture upturned, the few decorative items tossed and broken. Someone had been looking for something.

Walking through the familiar apartment, he looked for anything that could indicate Wesker’s guilt, but any personal items had been scarce as it was as if Wesker was just passing through. Everything smelled of the older man, and it was causing Chris’s stomach to turn in fifty million directions. Rage, pain, anguish, guilt, denial, excitement, nausea, longing. Was this even real?

Swallowing thickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, Chris slowly made his way down the hall towards the bedroom they had shared so many hot nights fucking and sucking, moaning and groaning, biting and licking, scratching and grinding until the light of dawn crept over their sweat covered bodies.

Chris stepped into the tossed bedroom, breaths increasing as he stared at the mess, eyes wide. This room was also ransacked but for another reason other than someone searching for something.

Chris could almost hear the echoing of the sounds Wesker had made when Chris’s harsh pummeling forced the blonde to cum a second time as he wrecked the older man with his cock. That had literally been less than 24 hours before the mansion. The memory caused him to feel slightly aroused, and it sickened him. It didn’t look like Wesker even had time to clean up their mess.

Breaths almost to the point of hyperventilating, Chris couldn’t stand to be there any longer. Tearing his eyes away from the tossed bedroom and cum covered sheets, he made his way towards the front door, the smell of the older man’s scent wafting over him.

Chris stopped in the foyer where the living room connected with the kitchen/dining area and scanned over the mess one last time, looking for anything that might be out of place, other than the mess someone else had left.

Wesker was incredibly intelligent, always calculating his next move, and Chris had been so blindsided by Wesker admitting he had always been with Umbrella he never saw it coming. Wesker would never have left anything for anyone to find. Unable to stay one more second, Chris stormed out, not even bothering to lock the door.

.....

Calling a cab, Chris headed back to the precinct to get his Jeep. Chris didn’t really care to take the Raccoon City cab service back and forth around town. He would rather rely on his own transportation.

Plus, he wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone.

Chris needed to grieve properly. In private.

Probably with lots and lots of alcohol.

.....

Chris sat in his jeep for at least an hour, frozen as he stared at Wesker's sleek black vehicle across the lot.

Chris could still smell the other man in his interior. Smell the stale scent of sex he never bothered to clear out after a few shameless trysts in a random dark lot or the warehouse from their first rendezvous. The stain from Wesker’s cum still marked the seat in the back.

Finally, Chris left the lot to head back to his apartment, which he was dreading. The unwanted anticipation causing his stomach to do backflips against his spine. But he was filthy and wanted a hot shower and clean clothes, and maybe some sleep.

Chris drove with all the windows down to air out Wesker’s scent.

.....

After arriving at his apartment, Chris bolted from his Jeep as fast as possible, not able to stand the smell any longer, and stood outside smoking several cigarettes. Apprehensive at stepping into the small living space that they had also done just about every lewd act possible, actually breaking a few pieces of Chris’s shitty furniture in the process.

Everything reminded him of Wesker. Everything. Now, there was nothing left except memories of the older man and a hollowness that Chris knew could never be filled by any other person.

The past two years of working together. Chris’s elaborate schemes to get into the blonde’s pants. Pushing Wesker over the edge. Fucking Christ, the blonde had felt so fucking good. Every time they fucked, it just kept getting better and better. Everything had felt… so right.

They had fit perfectly together like they had been created just to compliment the other. At least, that is how Chris imagined them to be.

Finally, Chris stepped through his doorway and stopped. Standing just inside of the entryway, eyes glazed over, Chris looked around the dingy apartment that he had made a moderate effort to keep clean after Wesker walked out on him because of his pigsty.

Chris played out all the furniture they had had sex on as his eyes swept the adjoined rooms… which left practically no surface untouched, save for the stove and the TV stand. Never mind, just the stove.

Wesker had started leaving things at Chris’s as he visited more after the brunette had cleaned, a set of work clothes, a small bag of toiletries, the pomade he used to slick his hair back. Chris reminisced the odd way Wesker would clean off Chris’s counters of empty packaging into the trash but stopping short of actually taking the trash out.

Chris’s breaths increased, and his body started to tremble as he tried to control the bubbling emotion he had been holding back. He was exhausted. Tired of lying to himself that he could handle this, except he was completely overwhelmed from what transpired in the past 48 hours.

Chris could not take it any longer and started to completely and utterly break down in his empty apartment that smelled slightly like Wesker. Breaths huffing, Chris dropped his clothes on the floor as fast as he could as he made his way to the shower, turning on the water as hot as he could.

Not even waiting for the shower to warm up, Chris stepped in, wrenching his head back as he wailed into the cascading water. Gripping his head, he twisted his hands into his hair until he felt like he would rip his own scalp off.

Not able to keep on his feet any longer, Chris collapsed to the shower floor, leaning his forehead against the tiles. He couldn’t stop the grieving hollowness that had finally taken hold, encompassing his entire being. Without thought, he started punching the tiles until his knuckles bled, face scrunched up, and lips pulled back in a horrified grimace. Only when he felt his bone start to crack did he stop, wanting to feel something other than the mental anguish.

Face tight in absolute agony as he felt his world crumble and fall apart, “You fucking cocksucker! I hate you, so God damn much! You hear me, you dead rotting piece of shit! I fucking hate you! Albert, I…I… **FUCK**!” Chris punched the tiles again, and he felt bone fracture this time, immediately hugging the shaking fist to his heaving chest as he wept.

Chris sat at the bottom of the shower until long after the water turned frigid, no longer caring. He barely felt the cold as he gazed numbingly at the opposite side of the small shower, letting the water pelt over him and wash away the blood from his bruised and cracked knuckles, unable to stop the unending tears.

His chest hurt. And the pain only seemed to get worse with every breath, and then the tears would renew, thicker than ever, and he would choke on poorly repressed sobs.

Even the shower had been a sacred space for them, having had multiple sexual romps under the steaming hot water after a long hard day at work.

Chris closed his eyes, imagining himself being anywhere else but here.

.....

After finally tired of the freezing cold water, Chris finished showering and was situated in clean clothes, now staring at the bed he had shared with the older man on several occasions. Wesker had even stayed the night a few times. It wasn’t the top of the line or as big as Wesker’s, but it was comfortable, and they had still been able to do quite a lot on the queen-sized mattress.

Stepping away, he made his way to the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag, and gathered up all the clothes and gear he had dropped along his path to the bathroom, pulling off his holster and knife, and other items he wanted to keep. The rest was trash. Better yet, Chris planned on burning it all once he had the means to do so, not knowing what further biohazard he had been walking around with on his clothes.

Chris attempted to sleep after cleaning up. He had changed the sheets, stuffing the ones that had been on the bed in the washer. After lying awake for what seemed like hours, Chris had been able to nod off but woke violently, falling from the bed. A dream or maybe a memory of the older man had left him achingly hard. He hated himself for it. He could still smell the older man in his sheets even though he had just changed them.

Face twisted in rage, eyes watery, Chris ripped his bed apart. Tearing off the clean sheets and tossing the mattress to the side of the room to land against the wall, Chris stalked out of the bedroom, unable to even relax enough to get even a few hours of rest.

Standing in the kitchen, it took Chris a moment to remember where he had stashed his alcohol. It was the only thing he could think of that would allow him any rest at this point. He needed to escape this sick distorted reality, even if only for a short time.

Chris turned the TV up loud to muffle his grief as he plopped onto the well-used leather couch. Chris could still smell him in the deep folds but not as strongly as in the mattress, having actually wiped down the couch on several occasions with Lysol after their messes.

Sighing, Chris stared at the bottle for several minutes. The last time he got drunk, things did not go over well, having been told he was not the nicest guy when trashed, but right now, he didn’t care. He started pouring himself a generous amount of the liquid and knocked it back. Then he poured another and knocked that back too. And then another. And another.

Chris kept going until he was a third of the way down the bottle and in a somewhat blissful state as his fuzzy vision centered on whatever shit program was on the TV, brain finally numb as his vision swirled.

Chris tried to sleep, but dreams of Wesker’s death played out over and over. Sometimes it was how everything had unfolded in the mansion. Sometimes they were fucking, and all of a sudden, Wesker was impaled, bleeding, blood gushing from his mouth, innards sloshing over Chris’s abdomen as the older man continued to thrust into Chris’s body, that slightly shocked look in his frozen unmoving eyes, just like when Chris had said his final goodbye.

Others, Wesker was stumbling towards him, almost looking normal, and then he went for Chris’s neck like he was about to kiss the skin there, but instead, a chunk of flesh is ripped from him, leaving Chris screaming as he bolted forward from the couch holding his sweat-drenched neck, expecting to find missing flesh there.

Staring at the small coffee table, a new addition since they had broken his other one, he grabbed the bottle and started chugging. Faster until there was only about a quarter of the bottle left. The alcohol burned his throat, but all he wanted was the silent blackness.

He needed to shut his brain down completely. The nightmares felt too real. He could feel the older man inside him as they ground their bodies together, the warmth of Wesker's intestines as they slopped against his bare skin with each thrust. The teeth tearing into his neck.

Chris just wanted blissful silence.

.....

After the fourth day of being tortured by the memory of Wesker everywhere in his life, Chris called Jill in the middle of the night, drunk and sobbing that he had something to tell her and that he needed her to come get him.

Asking what was wrong, Chris refused to tell Jill anything over the phone and only repeated he needed her to come get him. Chris knew he was too drunk to drive, and the thought of sitting in his Jeep at this point terrified him.

Standing outside his apartment, a cigarette between his lips, hands poorly bandaged, and a duffle bag at his feet. Jill immediately noticed something was very, very wrong. Chris had always been carefree and upbeat, but now he just looked haunted, sad, grieving. She didn’t say anything as she pulled to the curb, and he jerkily made his way to the passenger side door, having difficulty managing to lift the door handle. Dropping his duffle on the passenger side floor, he succeeded in shuffling into the seat.

Jill glanced at the slightly rocking brunette next to her, “You’re drunk.” Chris just shrugged. The hollow bags under his eyes were indicator enough he had not been sleeping as he gazed back at her, silent for several moments. Taking a deep breath, “I have something to tell you but not here. I… I need a place to stay for a bit. I’ll explain everything, I promise. I just… can we go? Please?”

Jill started to say something, but he cut her off with a terse reply, “Please! I can’t stay here any longer!” Jill was truly concerned for her friend. Never had she seen Chris like this. What they had gone through was horrific and traumatizing, and no words could describe how they were all feeling, but there was something else Chris was hiding, something eating him from the inside out. And she had an idea of what it might be but would wait for Chris to make the first move.

Back at her apartment, Jill rebandaged his knuckles, and settled Chris into a makeshift bed on her couch. He sat and immediately broke down and told Jill everything. From the moment he realized he was attracted to Wesker to him pushing the older man with sneaky antics to all the fucking they had done up until the day of the mansion and finally the cold, hard truth of who Wesker really was. An imposter.

Some parts took Chris several tries to get out what was weighing on his chest, and Jill sat silent and patient, rubbing Chris’s back every so often when the words would not come, and it was just soft, bitter tears. After several minutes of Chris finally getting out what he needed to, he said something else. It was just a whisper, but Jill heard it loud and clear, as if Chris was yelling at the top of his lungs.

“I know it was real, that he felt something. He’d never say it, but I could see it in his eyes, Jill. And.. and… I wanted it to be something more. Like a dumb fucking infatuated teenager! I knew it would never go any further, so I tried to just make the most of it all. Enjoy it. And he just kept coming back for more and more. Demanding, like he couldn’t get enough, and… I... I did the same.”

Chris hung his head between his knees, body shaking as he tried to stifle another small noise, “Jill… will this pain ever stop?”

Jill knew something had been going on between them but didn’t realize how far Chris had fallen for Wesker, and it sounded like it was not so one-sided. At least, from what Chris was saying. She just rubbed his back, only able to answer honestly, “No. It never goes away. It just becomes… less consuming, but it will take time. A long time.”

Chris’s body shuddered, and leaned up to hug Jill, the dam bursting again, the remnants of Chris’s binge drinking lifting. “I can’t go back there.” Jill nodded. “Stay as long as you need, just don’t get piss-assed drunk. You turn into a nightmare.”

.....

And they did just that, shared space for the remaining week and a half of their admin leave. Jill found that it was actually nice not being alone except for when she heard Chris wake violently in the middle of the night, on more than one occasion. His breaths to the point of hyperventilating, and then quite weeping. After a while, she would hear the tink of glass and knew Chris was drinking. She couldn’t really blame him though.

Seeing Wesker die must have been traumatizing after finding out the bastard had been double-crossing them the whole time. Having to come to terms with Wesker’s death and his own feelings for the man, regardless of the blonde being a traitor, left Chris in an emotional black hole, and Jill was not sure if he could pull himself out of it.

She had seen Wesker’s body. Accidentally finding him searching the labs for Chris and the others. Like with any other STARS member she had come across that night, she said a small prayer and moved on to find her living compatriots.

.....

Once they returned and had a moment to collect their thoughts in the abandoned STARS office, Jill, Brad, Barry, Rebecca, and Chris all confronted Chief Irons. Nothing had been touched in their office since that night, and Chris felt the turmoil start to build again.

Irons still did not give anything away, and at their dismissal from his office, Irons smugly announced that STARS was being shut down and disbanded, and they would be reassigned.

Their efforts to alert outside authorities about Umbrella fell on deaf ears, sabotaged every step of the way. The five survivor’s efforts were discredited as hallucinations from shock. Everything had been silently covered up.

Chris became more and more infuriated at every roadblock, and finally, he hit his breaking point. The usually chipper, friendly brunette was gone, replaced by an irate, hotheaded brute. The unfortunate beat cop he dropped with a single punch was the final straw for Irons, suspending Chris indefinitely with mandatory review by the office shrink, but Chris knew better. It was all an elaborate setup to turn the blame of the deaths of their teammates on the remaining STARS members.

As the words left Irons flabby mouth, Chris stood stock still in front of the elaborate desk, body rigid as he was unable to keep the disgust from his face. Without a word, he threw his badge and sidearm on the pristine desk and walked out.

Chris returned to the STARS office, knowing in his heart it would be the last and final time he would step foot into the space he had spent the better part of the past two years, and immediately stepped into Wesker’s office. He stood, shaking slightly in apprehension, staring at the walls, the desk, the mess of papers, the incredibly sturdy leather office chair, and a used coffee cup that the remnants had dried up inside, a small coating of collected dust on everything.

Chris’s anger dissipated as the still lingering scent brought up all his squashed emotions to the forefront, and he could not help the loud sniffle as snot threatened to run from his nose. Chris stepped around the desk and sat in the chair, hands flat on the desk.

This was it. No longer would he look at this office with so many God damn arousing lustful memories. Chris leaned forward, shuffling through the desk drawers but found nothing of interest. Chris sighed, bowing his head, not even caring for what could possibly be locked in the bottom drawer.

The lingering scent almost caused Chris to break down again, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he sat back in the chair, hands on the armrests, staring at the ceiling. It really was a sturdy fucking chair with the amount of bouncing it had been tested with over and over, and Chris could not help the small internal chuckle as he sighed heavily. It had been over two weeks, and the pain he had felt that first night after Wesker’s death was still raw and bleeding in his chest, threatening to bubble up into his throat and steal his breath away.

Chris rose from the chair that held so many good memories and made his way to the main STARS door, a hand gripping the handle tightly. Slowly he angled his gaze back towards Wesker’s office, replaying all the fucking around they did, and Chris couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Chris didn’t even care to empty his desk. Wiping his face on his forearm, he turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway.

Chris left the station knowing full well he would never return.

.....

Chris returned to his apartment for the first time since he broke down to Jill and told her everything, but all he could think about was all the private intimate moments he had shared with Wesker. The way the older man had looked at him when they fucked. Making and keeping more and more eye contact with each encounter. How something had changed in Wesker when Chris called him by his first name, had held some unspoken emotion in those pale eyes. Chris could feel it in the uncontrolled movement of the other’s body as the blonde shuddered. It wasn’t a lie. It couldn’t have been. Chris refused to accept that.

Because… Because he still cared.

He still fucking cared, and he hated himself for it, and if Wesker walked into his apartment right then and there, this very second, Chris would probably bitch slap the blonde until his knuckles were smashed and bleeding and then would kiss him like Wesker was his saving grace. The warring emotions were tearing Chris apart.

Chris couldn’t stand to be in his apartment another second. All he could see was his ex-lover. Everywhere. Could smell him on everything, like Wesker had marked his territory like a fucking wolf. Intentionally or unintentionally, it didn’t matter, his scent had permeated everything.

It was driving Chris mad.

.....

Chris couldn’t stay in Raccoon City. Everything reminded him of Wesker. The older man haunted his waking and slumbering mind, and he needed to break free from the dead man’s grip.

Chris returned to Jill’s apartment, only planning on staying one more night. Chris was so incredibly grateful for Jill’s hospitality. Especially putting up with his drunken shit ass attitude.

Once Irons suspended him, Chris had decided right then and there in Irons office that he was going to drop everything and head to Europe to fight Umbrella at the belly of the beast. Chris and Barry had been doing a lot of research during their time off and had tracked Umbrella’s main HQ to Europe.

Unfortunately, Barry had a family and couldn’t just drop everything and go, but he had contacts and had been trying to set up a few things for Chris for when he arrived. With Chris having boots on ground at Umbrella’s core, they could push the fight at its source.

Chris would not drink that evening. He didn’t want to miss his scheduled cab in the morning. Which meant very little sleep would be attained that night.

.....

Chris jerked violently awake, a small, anguished sound escaping him. Looking around in a panic, he realized he was still on the plane, the sun shining bright on his face from the tiny window.

Trying to hide the convulsing shutter from prying eyes at his outburst, Chris covered his eyes, tears falling and slipping down the tight grimace, teeth clenched as not to utter another sound.

Sitting that way until he felt he could look up without falling apart again, he called the flight attendant and asked what kind of alcohol they had available.

The middle-aged woman smiled gently at Chris, knowing that he had been upset by the red in his eyes. How tired he looked. Older than his years in the sad inquiring gaze, and that he just wanted to relax during the long flight.

She handed him their menu, and he stared over it cautiously. Finally, he decided on the strongest they offered.

Continuing the understanding smile, the flight attendant handed him a glass of two fingers of high-end whiskey. Chris immediately knocked it back and handed the glass back to the attendant. She stared at him incredulously, unsure how to proceed.

Chris could not keep the haunted look off his face, eyes glassy as he begged, “Please.” Staring a moment longer, she nodded her head, her cheerfulness something Chris did not need at the moment. Nodding her head again, she poured him another glass with a steady hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always found it odd Chris skipped town so fast.
> 
> Should I do a Code Veronica chapter? 
> 
> I do enjoy Chris in conflicted turmoil… The knowledge that Wesker was still alive, tortured by sexy nightmares afterward despite Wesker’s brutality and hostility… Hmm…
> 
> Sexcapade references:
> 
> Chris wrecking Wesker - Encounters chapter 4 or Desecration chapter 6
> 
> The first rendezvous and stain in Chris’s Jeep – Encounters chapter 1 or Desecration chapter 5
> 
> I have no other Jeep Encounter chapters planned—yet. I’d have to find a good idea for it if I do.
> 
> Pigsty walkout – Encounters chapter 3
> 
> TV stand – Nothing planned.
> 
> Shower scene – I have a draft started.
> 
> Chris’s apartment – I have a draft started for one Encounter, haven’t thought of anymore yet.
> 
> Broken coffee table – Just a twinkle in my eye.
> 
> Office chair – I might have an idea I can scrap from my old shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone wonders what is really going on in Chris's head at this point. And Wesker's.


End file.
